Combine interesting
characters, shake well, and add a dash of 'clash'. Oh, and serve with
fun!

Faced
with impending unconsciousness, Craig didn't pay much attention to
the landlady's especially ugly live-in and his awkward stacking of
garbage-bags near the curb. The weight inside was uneven and some of
the bags couldn't stand straight by themselves. Usually
people
in the neighborhood were considerate with the trash and recyclables,
except for the occasional kitchen sink or worn arm-chair. Craig had
been out drinking with friends from work, which helped him ignore
signs of movement from inside the bags, and he barely managed a moist
grunt of acknowledgment to the live-in.

"You
pay ME the rent from now on. You know the door – you knock and
slip the money under the door like always, okay? Understand?"
The live-in kicked one of the dark-green garbage-bags that was
falling over.

"I'm
good for the clockwork and cash I have like ...always," Craig
mumbled, aiming for the front doors of the eight-flat.

Standing
before the double-doors, one hand furiously searching his
pants-pocket for his apartment keys, and the other scooping snoo from
his sleepy eyes, he was almost caught off-guard by the kiss to his
cheek. Just before her black lipstick touched his unshaved skin, he
smelled bubblegum and wine coolers. Karen! Of course, if he wouldn't
have been so drunk, he'd have heard the heavy step of her artificial
leg as she approached

Craig
was slow to snap from his gin and tonic stupor. He smiled at
the tall redhead and asked, "Can you keys upstairs to the door
for me?"

Karen
put a steady arm around her inebriated boyfriend and, using her set
of keys, helped him into the building. The landlady's live-in stomped
up the stairs around them, as they were taking their time ascending,
and disappeared into the landlady's second-floor apartment with a
loud slamming of the door. Craig might have said something as the
live-in passed, but Karen thought the chances were just as good the
noise resulted from stomach indigestion.

The
third floor smelled faintly of monkey-feces, as usual, and Karen
hurried up the stairs to the fourth floor studio, guiding her
boyfriend with a skill gained from Craig's several recent evenings
"with the boys." Though he'd been at his present job for
almost a year now, Craig still used his fellow employees as an excuse
to get drunk. And, Karen was comfortable with this, as long as Craig
kept his job and maintained minimal vomiting, she'd agreed not to
call him on his lame reason for getting smashed.

"In
we go," Karen encouraged, opening Craig's door to his apartment
and guiding him in.

"Home
safe and sound-proof," Craig said, pulling out and collapsing on
his futon couch.

She
closed the apartment door behind her, smiling at the sight of her
wonderful lover just a few deep breaths away from unconsciousness.
When he was totally out of it, she'd undress him, slowly. It was one
of three benefits of being with a sexy drunk – the other two
being the 'peace' and 'quiet' she enjoyed after he passed out.

Tossing
her leather jacket on the kitchen table, Karen sat down and unzipped
her knee-high boots. She kicked the left boot off, but had to pry the
right carefully off her artificial leg. Opening the refrigerator,
Karen hoped to find a couple of wine coolers, but had to settle for
some ginger-ale. As it was the weekend, the hour being late, and her
dear Craig canceled out of most equations, she reached on top of the
refrigerator to Craig's stash of hard-stuff, and poured a little of
his ten year old scotch in her ginger-ale. Stirring the mix
with one long, blood-colored fingernail, she took a sip and felt a
moment of relaxing calm. And then the scratching at the front
door started...

Karen
set her glass down, walked to the apartment door, and looked through
the peep-hole. The hallway was dark, and no one was visible, but
still the scratching continued. It was all too familiar, as she'd
been through the same situation a couple of times before.

Opening
the door, she asked, "What do you want, monkey?"

The
mangy chimp brushed past Karen and sat itself at Craig's kitchen
table, an unlighted cigarette between its lips. It was the usual
reason for the monkey to come upstairs, as the lack of an opposable
thumb made the working of a Bic lighter extremely difficult, and
striking matches were also way high on the tough-list.

"You
shouldn't smoke," Karen said sincerely. The chimp didn't want to
hear it and slammed a hairy fist down on the kitchen table. Craig had
given it a light a couple of months back and it must have
remembered.

"He
won't listen to you. You should know males are self-centered
troglodytes and ignore females except during feeding or mating..."
The voice was sun-warmed honey dripping on an outstretched
tongue.
Each word was pronounced a little sweeter than the one before it, and
Karen turned her eyes and beheld the smallest and loveliest woman
she'd ever imagined.

Desperately
wanting to light up, the chimp bolted past Karen towards Craig asleep
on the futon couch. The little woman moved so fast to block the
primate, Karen was unable to see the white lace of her peach-colored
camisole so much as flutter. A tiny finger on its nose stopped the
chimp a couple of feet before reaching Craig.

"Fine
catch, my Fay," came a low voice from the doorway.

Karen
turned to the door, as did the little woman and the monkey. The
third-floor tenant, and owner of the chimp (and perhaps the little
woman, as well) was a square-jawed, handsome, and uniquely flawed
man. As Craig learned from another tenant, the fellow had lost the
tip of his nose in an attempted mugging, and because he'd no
insurance to cover reconstructive surgery, had fashioned a gold
toe-guard from a boot into a shining facsimile of the tip of a nose.

"Tycho!"
Craig called out drunkenly from the couch. "And two babes and a
monkey...," he added, before passing back out.

"It's
Melvin, not Tycho'," the third-floor tenant corrected. His
exquisitely 'perfect' capped teeth caught the light of Craig's studio
nearly as much as Melvin's highly polished fake-nose. The brilliant
smile was all for Karen, and it gave her a cold blush.

His
hand rose signaling the little woman and the monkey with a maneuver
reminiscent of Francois Truffaut in Spielberg's Close
Encounters
Of The Third Kind. The deft manipulation of fingers and the flip of
his palm must have been some private version of sign language, but it
seemed to work quite well. She walked straight to the doorway of
Craig's apartment and out into the hall, with the primate following
close behind. Neither gave Karen so much as a glance.
"I
regret the disturbance," the downstairs tenant apologized. "I'm
hosting a small get-together tomorrow afternoon and would be pleased
if you'd attend..."

She
felt his gaze upon her body like clumsy hands; no soft, gentle
caresses, but rather a crude heaviness on her bare, white thighs, the
slope of her hip, her breasts, and her long, red hair. As she moved
to disrupt his visual inspections, he added, "And, Craig is also
invited, providing his hangover doesn't prevent him..."
Stepping
backwards into the hallway, he showed more capped teeth, and pulled
the apartment door closed. Karen quickly reached for the bottle of
Craig's single malt scotch, another glass, sat at the kitchen table,
and poured herself a few inches, ignoring the ginger-ale mix before
her.

"Well,
that was different,"musing as she took a drink.

"Monkey...,"
Craig moaned in a semi-conscious daze.

She
set the glass down, walked over to the couch, and began to undress
her boyfriend. Normally, Karen would turn the act into a long, slow
ritual, but tonight she ripped his clothes off and had him naked in
only a minute. Removing her artificial leg and pulling her dress over
her head, she let both fall to the floor beside the couch, joined
Craig, and was soon fast asleep.

"I'm
not going," Craig said the next morning upon hearing of Melvin's
invitation. "The freak scares me and you should have woken me
when the monkey showed..." Craig really liked the chimp.

Karen
was at the stove frying bacon and gave Craig a playful glance over
her shoulder. "Lover," she sassed, "Monica Belluci,
Sofia Vergara, and Agent Scully could have been balancing beer-nuts
on each other's noses last night and you would have slept through
it!"

"Are
you making any eggs to go with that burnt pig-fat?" Craig asked,
gently placing his hands on her hips.

"No!"
It was the voice of the Goddess; one of authority and finality.
"We're having toast and bacon and THAT'S IT! We have to save
room in case they set out any food this afternoon..."

"I
really don't want to go," Craig protested.

"Have
you ever seen that little woman that's with him – Fay, I think
he called her... She's a doll!"

"I
imagine Tycho does play with toys... Do you think he dresses
her?"

"You're
going this afternoon and you'll behave!" Karen commanded.

The
brief debate ended with Craig silently acquiescing. During breakfast,
it occurred to him there was an outside possibility he might actually
have a good time. And, at the very least, he'd have a chance to play
with the chimp.

From
Craig's meager collection of wines, Karen chose a bottle of
California Cabernet Sauvignon, scrapped off the $5.99 price-sticker,
and told Craig not to stare at the fake nose as he presented it to
the host.

They
knocked on the third-floor apartment door at the respectable hour of
three in the afternoon. The chimp answered wearing a velvet smoking
jacket and ascot. Recognizing Craig, the chimp removed an unlighted
cigarette from its jacket, and moist, large, brown eyes looked up at
Craig, wordlessly begging for a light.

"Sorry,
buddy," Craig said to the chimp, handing over the wine, "I
don't smoke..."

"And
neither should he," came the uncommonly deep baritone voice of
the host from behind the monkey.

With
a cute and high-strung synchronization, Craig and Karen blurted
"Hello!" at the same time.

"Good
of you to make it, Craig – we don't see enough of each other...
And, I've not properly introduced myself to your lovely friend...
Melvin Abbot Donnant, gentleman and subscriber to HBO since 1979, at
your service..." The subsequent foppish bow revealed the
relentless advances of his male-pattern baldness and brought a timely
smile to Karen's face.

"Karen
of the Clan Paterson," she countered, adding a bit of a curtsy.

"Well,
Craig and Karen, come in... Come in, and join my get-together!"
The host stood back from the door, and Craig pushed Karen through
first, as he later explained it, in case someone had to run for help
as Karen's artificial leg prevented any really rapid response from
her.

The
third-floor apartment was decorated in a style similar to the
American Southwest, yet skewed uniquely boring and exquisitely odd.
The several steer-skulls scattered about the apartment had been
turned into monstrous Chia-Pets, with spiky green growth jutting from
eye-sockets and other openings. On the walls were sandpaintings,
after a fashion, which seemed upon examination to be posterboard,
glue, and the spilled contents of a couple of ashtrays. There was a
single potted cactus near the front windows with all of its needles
removed and replaced with brightly colored Christmas lights. At the
decor, Craig and Karen felt the first serious tremors of misgiving,
and even more when they glanced about the room at the other attendees
of Melvin's "get-together."

"This
is Joey, a student of Houdini," the host introduced an Asian
fellow bound securely in a straitjacket.

"A
student, yes," Joey admitted, awkwardly standing, "but, not
a very good one, I must confess..."

"Ditto,"
Craig added, with a wide grin, not quite as successful as his
girlfriend.

"Now,
if he can stop surfing The Net for ... A MOMENT," Melvin raised
his voice, getting the attention of a well-dressed, young black man
using a laptop computer. "This is Mr. Emil Hamilton of Long
Branch, New Jersey – our resident cyber-geek... Don't send them
an e-mail, Emil – use your voice to say hello!"
"Hello,"
the young man said, his voice dry and lifeless, as if he was
unaccustomed to using it.

"And,
last and least," a woman's voice, sensuous and sure, called out
from the kitchen, "the domestic slave and amateur
ethnomycologist gets introduced!"
Craig had been
prepared, or so he thought, to met a good looking woman about four
and a half feet in height, but the actual sight of her stunning
beauty nearly killed him. She entered the living room carrying two
trays of hors d'oeuvres, stood before Craig and said, "Hi, my
name's Fay McLean and if you don't want to see me cry, you'll eat my
stuffed mushrooms."

"I,
for one, certainly don't wish to see you cry," Karen popped an
appetizer in her mouth. "I'm Karen. From last night?"

"It's
nice to name you, Karen," Fay answered. "Does your
boyfriend ever say anything or have you just got him trained
nicely?"

"Craig,
two of the mushrooms," Karen instructed. "Eat one and give
the other to Joey, over there in the straitjacket. He's probably
hungry!"

"Hi.
Sure. Thanks. Okay," Craig replied, helping himself. He was
flustered, but grateful to be alive. She was gorgeous! And, he felt
twelve years old again and just as challenged.

"Well
met, all!" Melvin said, struggling to wrest the bottle of wine
from the chimp's grasp. "Our number is whole and prime, and
nothing will DIVIDE US," he pledged, gaining possession of the
wine, at last.

It
took several minutes to prepare a toast, as Emil had to log-off,
Marilyn was forced to give up her cookies, and a straw needed to be
found for Joey. Soon, a toast was made and the "get-together"
was officially under way. Fortunately, for Craig, all the guests had
also brought wine and he sat in a director's chair between the chimp
and Joey and proceeded to get drunk.

When
Fay announced dinner, Craig was relieved. He'd lost ten dollars and
change to the chimp playing nickel-dime-quarter poker and blackjack,
but it was his own fault. Melvin had warned him the chimp was
expelled from a university study because of "influences"
generated by the after-hours maintenance crew. During the day, the
study would teach him sign language and problem solving, while at
night, he'd smoke, drink, and play cards with the janitors. That
behavior, if limited, may have allowed him to stay in the program,
but there was a troublesome incident with one of the young, female
lab-assistants, which forced the university to let him go.

"I
didn't hear the buzzer, so we're not having pizza or Chinese
delivered...," Craig joked. "So, what are we having?"

"Hasenpfeffer!"
Karen said, helping to carry out dishes of rabbit stew and noodles.

Melvin
handed Craig a bottle of wheat-bock, saying, "We owe this fine
meal, not only to the talented Fay, but to our gracious landlady!
This tasty coney arrives courtesy of those second-floor warrens you
must smell every time you're walking up the stairs!"

Karen
and Craig exchanged perplexed looks. It was true they'd both detected
the stale, musty aroma of animal feces, though they'd assumed it
resulted from Melvin's chimp. An outsider would have deemed it
"dueling Mr. Spocks," as Karen and Craig each raised a
single eyebrow to one another. Both suddenly realized that Melvin's
apartment, though odd to an extreme, did not reek of
'monkey-feces."

"The
landlady runs a bunny-farm out of her apartment?" Craig
asked.
"Until her recent accident, yes," Melvin
answered, implementing his dazzling smile, and claiming the
attentions of everyone in the room.

Dinner
was suspended while Melvin described the landlady's peculiar
fascination with rabbits. It was a PETA nightmare. The landlady had
raised rabbits in a spare bedroom for years, utilizing most for
personal food consumption, though in all fairness, giving many away
as gifts throughout the neighborhood. And, as Melvin retold from an
EMS-driver's description, she'd recently grown lonely and bored with
her live-in's 3-11 shift at work, and after a shower one evening,
covered with a layer of Neutrogena light sesame oil, had let the
rabbits out of their cages to ...frolic on her bare skin. The
resulting bites were not life-threatening or noticeably disfiguring,
but the incident, when the live-in found out, brought an end to the
warrens.

Marilyn
was the first to put down her rabbit stew, followed by Emil. Joey was
still in his straitjacket, but didn't seem particularly hungry. Craig
and Karen, on the other hand, knew with certainty they'd lost their
appetites for 'hasenpfeffer'. Craig had bought Karen rabbit-lined
gloves the previous Christmas and neither felt comfortable admitting
they too had experimented with the luxurious sensations of fur on
flesh.

"So,
you're saying this crazy rabbit I was just about to eat attacked our
landlady?" Karen asked, her voice taking an uncontrolled turn
towards hysteria.

Fay stepped forward and put a hand
carefully on Karen's shoulder, saying, "It's not like it came
from the backyard and we have to worry about tularemia..."

"It's
arrogant!" Karen yelled. "I've got nothing against eating
meat, but it's SICK to tell people such a story and EVEN imagine
they'd not care!"

"No
one talks to her like that except me!" Melvin menaced
with his loud voice.
Craig moved between his girlfriend and
the enraged host, placing his nose a fraction of an inch away from
the gold fake-nose. "So much for the afternoon, Tycho," he
said softly. "You just ended the party..."

"Oh,
the party will go on without you!" Melvin shot back.

Karen
pulled Craig to the door before he had a chance to smack Melvin.
Turning back towards the host, she said, "It's a shame my
boyfriend keeps calling you Tycho, after all, Brahe was a famous
Danish astronomer who kept great notes and you're just a
jerk!"

"What
she said!" Craig added, as Karen pushed him out of the
apartment.
The door slammed behind them, leaving Craig and
Karen in the hallway frustrated, free, and still hungry. "Thai?"
Craig suggested.

"Green
curry and Pad-Thai with shrimp?" she asked in turn.

Walking
down the stairs, holding hands and comfortable in their silence, both
relaxed in the surety of each others' company. Karen was most proud
of her boyfriend's behavior – though he did stare at the little
woman's not-so-little breasts a bit too much, he passed the afternoon
without doing anything stupid AND kind of came to her rescue. Craig
was thinking about chicken-on-a-stick with spicy peanut sauce.

As
they neared the front-door, the landlady's live-in raced down the
stairs and clumsily passed them. The garbage-bags he was carrying
were overstuffed and ready to burst. Karen faced her boyfriend and
began to laugh.
"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I
can't believe I'm actually weighing what's more important right now!
I should call the local SPCA, I've always wanted a fur-coat, and I'm
starved for dinner!"
He kissed her, lightly, yet with
much affection. "Let's go to a pay-phone, make a call, have some
Thai-food, and we'll see if your coat is still here when we get back.
Okay?" Craig offered.

R. D. Flavin is a
Registered Ketchup Offender in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts (the
ketchup from his home fires BARELY touched his scrambled eggs, but
the waitress called the police regardless), enjoys writing, value
menus at McDonalds and Burger King, and once stood on his right leg
for over an hour. He's currently practicing for standing on his left
leg.

I'd like to thank J. R.
Nakken for editorial suggestions.

Contact R. D. (Unless
youtype
the
author's namein
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)